For several seconds, the ranch owner remained motionless.
Then he spoke.
"The boy's mother abandoned him."
The older woman shook her head.
"No."
His expression hardened.
"That's what I was told."
She looked directly into his eyes.
"I did not abandon my child."
The ranch owner opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
The marshal stepped forward.
"Who told you the mother abandoned him?"
The man hesitated.
Then named the same freight agent.
I felt a cold certainty settle over me.
The marshal nodded.
"Do you have the papers?"
The ranch owner looked toward the house.
For several seconds, he seemed to be deciding whether to refuse.
Then he gestured toward the front porch.
"Come inside."
The older woman remained in the wagon with me while the marshal entered the house.
I could hear voices through an open window.
The ranch owner sounded angry.
The marshal remained calm.
Several minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
Finally, the marshal emerged carrying a folded document.
His expression had changed.
He looked toward me.
"Callan."
I approached.
He lowered his voice.
"The paperwork is worse than we expected."
I frowned.
"How?"
He opened the document.
It described the transfer of a male infant to the ranch owner in exchange for six hundred dollars.
The amount matched the older woman's copied ledger.
But unlike the Silver Mesa papers, this agreement did not claim the mother had died.
It stated that she had voluntarily surrendered the child in exchange for financial compensation.
Beneath that statement was a mark presented as her signature.
I stared.
The older woman had never learned to write English.
She had told us that herself.
The supposed signature was written in a confident, practiced hand.
The marshal looked toward her.
"We need to ask her about this."
We approached the wagon.
He showed her the document.
She studied it.
Then shook her head.
"I never signed that."
The marshal pointed toward the mark.
"Have you seen this before?"
She stared.
Then her expression changed.
"That is not my mark."
The marshal waited.
She continued.
"My husband made marks like that on papers he wanted me to approve. He would put the pen in my hand and tell me where to touch."
Her voice hardened.
"But I never agreed to give away my son."
The marshal nodded.
He carefully folded the document.
Then looked toward the house.
The ranch owner stood on the porch.
For a moment, the two men stared at each other.
Then the marshal spoke.
"Sir, this transfer is disputed. We have evidence that the mother did not consent and that the document may have been falsified."
The ranch owner's face reddened.